Echo
by Cressida123
Summary: "I swear to you," despite the sharp stab of pain caused the action, she raised her fist, painted red in her own blood, up above her to the sky and clenched it into a fist. Still strong- even the face of death. "I'LL KILL THEM! I'll kill them all! I promise you! I promise..."
1. Poem

I lived

I died

Then I fell

Down,

Down,

Down.

I fell too hard

I died again

This time was not spiritually

I made a **Choice**

A choice to be cursed

Cursed by THEIR greed

 **Once a demon descended from heaven**

Now I kinda want….

A little bit of EVIL

 **Now an angel ascended from HELL**

Yearning again for that candid loves

The kind that…

 **Extends**

I lie, I strike you

I hold you

The fluctuation

I am…

 **THE DESTROYER**

* * *

Okay, another story- that I probally won't finish because I don't write Rise fast enough. Ughhhhh...*more groaning ensues* Now, I have the prologue written, but, at the moment, I can't post- mostly because I still have to figure out the rating for this is. For now, it shall be rated T.


	2. Prologue

**All rights go to Shannon Messenger. But oc's are mine!**

Okay, okay. I know I've been dead for a couple of weeks- months*cough*- but that's just because I had WAAAYYY too much homework, okay! DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT, IT'S THE TRUTH! *narrowly dodges the eight knives thrown my way, but ends up pinned to the wall when it grabs my "Blah Blah Blah" t-shirt.* *gulps nervously* *voice is like Alvin on helium* I'm sorry, I'm sorry. ANYWAY, here are the warnings for the entire story... God this is so bloody... Rating will not change until someone yells at me that is much too gory for a T-rated fanfic.

 **Warning for entire story: Child abuse, Cannibalism(light), Death, Human Experimentation, DEATH, Torture, Thoughts of Self Harm, Self Harm, MORE DEATH, Thoughts of Suicide, Attempted Suicide, Attempted Genocide, Mentions of Forced Prostitution(light),Tongue kissing(light), blood, gore, and, finally, DEATH. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. You still**

 **WARNING for Chapter: Blood and Death. If not comfortable, please leave this chapter. It's mostly at the end.**

 **Bolded=14 year old Chara speaking**

Normal text= 4 year old Chara speaking in.

Also, shout out to thedublinjoker for following and favoriting this story! Welcome to the fandom!

You all still here?

* * *

 **Not all humans are born equal**

An ocean of piercing calm, slitted pupils - SERPENTS eyes - eyes unfit for the child, Chara. The girl, gazing up at her mother with unbridled love and affection, as she expertly weaves the buttercups into a crown. Her hands are quick; practiced, as she entwines the stems together before plopping them on her daughters mess of long, stilts colored curls- muddy brown at the roots, but slowly progresses to pale white as the color is leached from the stress of life; a common hair type amongst humans. In spite of her tresses, Chara's responding giggle is that of carefree glee that only a child could know as her. Her mother smiles in return.

 **Out of everything, I only really remember her smile- gentle, like the wind. A kind wind, that made everyone around her happie** r.

"MOMMY ! MOMMY! Look! It's so pretty!" Chara squealed happily, her white gown swishing, as she twirled on her bare heel to showcase her crown from all sides. The corners of her mother's heart shaped lips then lifted upwards even higher until it appeared as though they were touching her ears.

Chara absolutely adored that grin- directed solely at her; no one else.

"Yes, yes, I see you, my little starlight," her supple hand reached out to gently pet her offspring's head and the four-year old beamed with gaiety. "You look lovely, my child."

Her daughter's responding giggle caused a smile to once again grace the older woman's soft, lovely features, before they were then tugged into a frown when she peered over at the old, wooden grandfather's clock, ticking away in the corner. It read 9:30. Now, Chara wasn't very well versed in math- it was rare for girls her age to even receive an education at all, though her mother was special, as her father often liked to say, and practically ensured it. But she very well understood the unspoken rule among those that lived in her quiet little neighborhood: unless you were an angel, NEVER go out after dark. The '"attacks'" had become much more frequent, after night after all.

 **I never once saw it coming- never once thought we'd be the next targets, the next victims of their sinful greed.**

Being but a small cherub, she never really understood the severity behind such things, but she did acknowledge the worried purse of her mother's lips- the darkening shade of her warm brown eyes. And so, in order to see her smile once again, Chara tugged at her baby blue dress. "Mommy, mommy. Can you tell me the story? You know, the one about the angels and the humans?"

Chara's heart soared when a small smile lit up her mother's face. "Of course, my child," she replied, taking her little one in her arms and cradling her to her chest. Chara buried her face in the older woman's shoulder and inhaled the sweet scent of baked goods- butterscotch cinnamon pie, specifically." Now, where should I start…." her mother pretended to contemplate, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"You know exactly where to start!" the four-year old pushed her chest away playfully. "Before the Great War! When the angels had yet to descend from heaven!"

"Of course!" her mother feigned realization. She then cleared her throat before her voice carried easily through the pairs silent, creaking home: high pitched, and unconfined. "Once, long ago, long before the angels descended from heaven, humanity appeared on earth. No one knows how or why, but we did know one thing: Earth was our home. But just as she is beautiful, she is also very treacherous, and we weren't exactly the sharpest tools in the shed - more apelike, in fact." Chara giggled at that as her mother paused; "But…. We eventually found even footing, and prospered as a result. Science and math flourished, cities were built; no tummy ever went hungry," she said as she lightly tickled Chara's stomach, triggering a chortle from the small girl. "Everything was perfect, until …. they came."

Chara's snake-like-eyes found her mother's as the older woman's wonderful chocolate irises fogged over, nearly appearing black underneath the fading candlelight. This was mommy's least favorite part.

"They were beautiful and angelic; perfect in every way," she began before Chara interrupted the description.

"Prettier than even you, mommy?" the little girl asked. Her mother was a very handsome young woman. So much so that her father once told her that by age fourteen she'd been proposed to at least seventy-three times the very same year as when she turned. It was not difficult for a even child like Chara to understand why.

Her mother's hair, unlike Chara's scruffy, hip-length stilts tresses, were pulled back into a sleek black bob that framed her slender, yet well-built frame, perfectly. Her smile was comparable to the jewels Chara had often seen the angels strut around in like preening peacocks, and the older womans chocolate brown eyes were so deep they were like a never-ending abyss. But they were also so clear, like staring into the surface of a frozen lake.

The four-year old's mom's twinkling laugh then rang out into their hushed home at her offsprings question.

"My child, I'm not pretty at all- quite average actually," before Chara could voice her protests, her mother continued. "But Angels… well, they posses the most wonderful of features- natural beauty we could only dream of. Though they were not only beautiful, they were also intelligent- they had already built and created things that would take thousands of years, if only that, for humanity to make. And their powers…" Chara's mother's hovering voice seemed to trail along the air in sad recollection, before it was silenced by a swift rap to the pair's molding wooden door.

The older woman then stood, setting Chara to the floor and smoothing the nonexistent creases of her baby blue gown.

"That must be your father," her mommy said as she made her way across the dining room, over toys thrown to the ground with reckless abundance. She then threw the door open so hard the hinges screeched their protests.

.

..

…

"Welcome home, Darl!" Chara's mother paused, a worried pucker between her brows- her heart-shaped lips frowning "O-oh. G-good evening. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Angel?"

Angel?... Chara thought. Curious, she peeked from behind her mother's pleated skirts, serpent eyes sweeping over gelled, gold-spun locks, to roguish high features; a stubbled chin. Lofty cheekbones to almost feminine frowning lips, until…. they landed on his eyes. Glacier, dark irises. Familiar irises. Eyes she'd seen only once, when she was three years of age.

When Mrs. Clara had ascended to heaven- a sweet old woman, with crinkled sea-foam green eyes, that, despite her age, still glistened with the sparkle of youth, and who baked Chara cookies whenever she visited. They had laiden her darkly dressed form in a stone coffin- the best them poor folk could afford- with flowers in her hands- her favorite: Lilies, the plant who shared the same name as her precious daughter of whom she always spoke of with orbs as bright as the sun. And Chara had remembered balling into her mom's shoulder as the older woman pet her head in comfort at the reception.

She would never forget the murkiness of Clara's orbs, how distant they were. As if they were looking, yet never really seeing. Eyes THIS man possessed. Except…

He was still very much alive.

Something was wrong. Chara could feel it- the snake already winding it's away around her heart, whispering sweet words of doubt. "This man is perilous news," it said. "We must get away. RUN! Chara! RUN!"

But to a child who knew nothing of the horrors of this world, who had grown up with the notion that even the worst person could change, that **EVERYBODY** could a be good person if they just **TRY!**

 **Heh**.

 **How naive.**

Those words were meaningless, even as the hooked blade, the handle embedded with crystals that would forever be etched into Chara's mind in recurring nightmares, struke through her mother's chest so that webs of blood entangled and bled through the sword's shiny metal the thin trails of criss-crossed blood, Chara could see flesh part like two walls of withered tulle petals at the sword's fervent slice and felt faint when she peered at the chasm's tensions and thrashing viscera lining the incisions sides. Muscles, like interwoven threads of string, threaded with sliced corded veins, were hacked into tumbling weeds of thread. The chopped tube-like veins overflowed with blood and spilled over and dribbled down like boysenberry icing. It's layered texture and copper-honeyed fragrance flared like suffocating fire. She couldn't breath... couldn't think .

Chara saw the sharp, jutting bone of ivory through the concave hollow of flesh, the spine's plates and coarse texture; it's stacked tier of sprigs curled in on the body's life force protectively - around the pounding heart who's buoyant harmony slowed into notes that bled melancholy and grief.

Oh, there was such grief. A lament of wailing for the closing of one person's chapter in the book of life, for the end of it all- for the puncture wound cleft at the hearts center, where the sword curved in on itself into a needle sharp point. Flakes of blood mottled the heart's sides and Chara could have sworn the crystals appeared like rotting snowflakes.

And all the while that melody of her mother's beating organ racked against her skull. She heard it pop like deafening fireworks that could have made her ears bleed; she thought her head would unravel at the seams and burst into chunks of brain and a crater of jutting bone and coiling flesh around in dent inside the broken skull.

Five beats.

Four beats

Three beats.

Chara's chest constricted. But just as soon as she saw mother's innards, the blood swelled, and the woman's hand spasmed at her chest, feebly attempting to stop the blood flow. Her palm was stained crimson.

And the sharp point sticking out from her mother's body as if it were a pencil piercing through paper, was so close that Chara's horrified, navy blue irises could stare cross eyed at it. She could almost see her mother's wide, dilated pupils and quivering heart-shaped lips in its twisted reflection.

Her mother sputtered, coughed, choked the metallic taste of blood. Each breath she took was clogged by the red substance now lodged in her throat, before she was thrown to the ground, as if she were a rag doll. Skin was pulled back even wider as the angel tugged the sword from her chest, flicking the blood staining his weapon to the side with a flourish as globs of it flooded from her mother's chest to the ground. The older woman's gasps of gagging agony were poison to her daughter's ears.

Chara's heart erupted against the container that was her rib-cage as she saw her mother's usually beautiful face twist in unimaginable agony as she turned. The four year-old watched in terror-stricken silence as her mommy's wonderful chocolate iris's rolled back- an image a child should never have to see, an image that would be seared into her brain all her life. **Even after ten years** \- and clouded over to the color of dirty dishwater- a-as dead and cold as….

 **Clara's orbs.**

The young girl observed as the older woman thudded to the wooden floor at a twisted angle- one that probably would have been painful, had she been…..

Two beats.

One beat.

….

..

…

…

Zero.

"M-mommy?" Chara whispered quietly, falling to her knees, and trembling hands reaching out to touch the body of the older woman, before retracting her hand in fright. She was frigid, almost as though…

A sea of red escaping from the corpse stained the fabric of Chara's milky white gown and clung to her knees as it crusted over. It felt sticky- like glue.

 **A feeling I've yet to wash myself of.**

The pungent dry odor of the cooling corpse enveloped the entirety of the room like a veil. The stench hung on Chara's body in wicked truth andhcaused her stomach to recoil. Chara felt as though she might hurl.

H-her mommy should smell of butterscotch... n-not copper...n-not... **DEATH.**

W-why... OH WHY?!... DID HER MOTHER SMELL LIKE CLARA?! S-she wasn't... s-she couldn't ...

"Mommy, wake up! Mommy?" Chara shook the lean shoulder of her mother.

No response.

Chara didn't like this game. M-maybe if she shook her enough, she'd wake up. M-maybe she'd tell her this was all just a dream. Hug her and whisper sugary words of comfort, like she used to when Chara had had a nightmare.

M-maybe.

 **This image: a four-year old girl laying in the blood of her mother's dead remains... should have been a dream. Or, more accurately, a nightmare.**

"Mommy! MOMMY!"

Still no reply.

"This isn't funny, mommy. Wake up! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" panic had Chara's heart trapped in it's iron grip at her mommy's lack of response, and it had no intention of releasing it. The juvenile female could feel something wet running along rosy cheeks, but failed to acknowledge it in her horror.

"Please."

"She's not coming back, child," a gruff voice, as desolate and empty as an echoing cave, responded, nothing like Chara's mom's chirpy, honeyed voice. It's iciness seeped into Chara's skin and into the crux of her bones.

The youthful girl then jumped at his sudden graveled tone-a shiver running up her spine- before slowly, shakingly, eyeing boots crusted with blood, up daggers strapped to toned thighs, to the face of the angel. Of **HIM.**

 **Mommy's murderer.**

No, not an Angel, Chara reasoned. A DEMON. A cold-hearted, evil demon, with black smudges clawing at the sides of his handsome features. A comedic red smile, dripping with blood at the corners, edged onto his face like a gaping hole. And one thought- there but hazy- cut through her despair, fright, and anger like the sword that had been run through her mother's heart:

That horrifying grin then cracked through the entirety of the demons face in sinister promise. "Nor shall she ever."

Run.

Not all humans are equal. I learned this when I was four years old, when my parents were killed by a fallen angel.


End file.
